


The Hanged Woman

by orphan_account



Category: Ib (Video Game)
Genre: Character Death, Drama, Gen, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 00:56:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Please, girl. Will you roam through the darkness with me?" He asks. "Will we be together?" She replies. All that matters in this fabricated world is He, She, and It.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hanged Woman

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N Continued from the Ib All Alone ending, Type 2. (The one with Fake!Garry. x3)**

_There once was a girl. She was very young, and lived all by herself in the world. Her only companion was a rose, whom she visited every day, and slept next to every night. The rose was a brilliant blue, shining with a light so bright that the girl never longed for anything but the rose's well-being. The two were the closest of friends, and loved each other more than anything. Their days were filled with countless hours of lying together in the sun. Sometimes the rose would talk and the girl would listen, other times the girl would talk and the rose would listen._

_One day, the girl came around to water and tend to the rose like she did every day. It wasn't in its usual place, so she started to look everywhere for her missing friend. After searching for a long, long time, the girl finally found the rose. It lay wilted on the ground, its color completely faded away. "Who could have done this?" The girl cried out, "Where is my friend? What happened to you, Rose?" The girl knelt beside the rose, the tears streaming down her face turning a bright, glowing blue, like the color of the flower._

_The girl returned every day to check up on the rose, never forgetting once to water the withered stem, or to tend to the scattered petals. This continued for six days and seven nights. On the seventh day, the girl returned to the usual spot, but instead of seeing a dead flower, what she saw was a fresh rose that was as pretty as the blue rose had been, except it was now a beautiful red._

_The rose was smaller than it used to be, but it shown so brightly that the sun nearly grew jealous. "Rose, is that you?" The girl touched the soft petals, not sure if this flower was really her old friend._

_"Yes, it is I." The red rose replied. "Oh – but please take me away from that infernal sun. I can't stand to look at it for much longer." The rose was shaking, its leaves starting to droop under the heat of the sun._

_The girl didn't understand. "Why don't you like the sun anymore, Rose?" The rose didn't reply, unable to move anymore. Scared, the girl picked up the rose, holding the fragile bloom close to her to protect it from the sun. Not wanting her friend to disappear and leave her alone again, the girl quickly traveled to a place far, far away from the sun._

_The two stopped by a large, dark cave. The shadows frightened the girl, but revived the flower. The rose leaned towards the hollow longingly. Knowing it wouldn't last much longer if it didn't go into the cave, the flower gasped, "Please, Girl. Will you roam through the darkness with me?"_

\--

 

"Will we be together?" Ib silently mouthed the words along with the story. Garry had narrated this made-up tale more times than either of them cared to remember, but for reasons Ib couldn't quite explain, she never seemed to tire of hearing it, even if by now she could recite each line in the story word for word. Her red eyes practically burned with enthusiasm, her cheeks flushed crimson as Garry wrapped up the story, the same way he had thousands of times before.

"Always." Garry smiled. Ib smiled right back, a bit disappointed that the hand which had been soothingly running through her hair had ceased its administrations. However, this juvenile dissatisfaction didn't deter her from sitting up and 'forcing' Garry into a big hug. Even though several years had gone by (7 and a half, to be exact; Ib had been keeping track), she still felt so tiny compared to Garry.

"That was a great story," Ib murmured, closing her eyes as she nestled in Garry's strong embrace. He wasn't big on bravery, but he was definitely strong, despite what his girly figure inferred.

Garry laughed. He laughed often, but the pretty, gentle sounds were something Ib didn't think she could get enough of. "I've told you that story so often already, aren't you sick of it yet?" He asked, although not unkindly.

Ib shook her head solemnly. "It's different when you tell it."

"If you say so." Garry hummed, running a hand through Ib's dark long hair again. "Say…Ib." Garry stopped abruptly, the caresses, the humming, everything. He gazed at the opposite wall, a peaceful lethargy in his eyes as he patiently waited for any sort of acknowledgment from Ib to prove that the girl hadn't fallen asleep. Only when he got a drowsy groan back did he continue the little routine. "I just remembered. Today's your 17th birthday, isn't it?"

Ib finally popped out from the temporary cocoon she had fashioned from Garry's coat (and not to mention Garry himself; she had been using him as a sort of settee), blinked slowly in realization, shrugged, and then disappeared again under his coat and into his arms.

"Hey!" Garry cried, slightly miffed that his words hadn't had more effect. "Today's your _birthday._ We _have_ to do something special! What do you want to do, Ib?" Hit with a sudden wave of eagerness to celebrate Ib's special day, Garry stood up, barely noticing Ib's yelp as she slipped off of him and landed on the floor with an undignified _oof._ Garry clenched his fists in determination, the silly grin plastered on his face quickly disappearing when he noticed the crumpled pile of human limbs and ragged coat on the floor that was Ib. "Ahhhh! I'm so sorry! Now you're going to have the worst birthday ever and it's all my fault!" Garry wailed dramatically, scarcely able to gather the common sense to help her up despite his concerned panic.

"No- Garry – I'm fine, really-" Ib sighed, waiting for Garry's spazzing to subside a bit before trying to talk again. "Look, see? You didn't hurt me at all. I'm tough, remember?" Ib put on a cheerful smile, trying to convince Garry that she was just fine. He nodded slowly, not looking completely persuaded as made obvious by the flustered tears threatening to fall. He was quick to laugh, but also just as quick to cry. Ib giggled, amused by how ridiculous the older male's mood swings were. She brushed off her clothes and bent down to retrieve Garry's coat, throwing the raggedy garment over her shoulder before throwing a hand out towards Garry. "C'mon, my birthday's not ruined. I really only wanted to color with you, if anything. Now stop being silly and let's go."

Garry smiled, glad to have been forgiven. He took a hold of Ib's hand, the two of them walking side by side down the hallway. "Sorry." He laughed sheepishly, his face still a little red from embarrassment.

"You don't need to apologize. Just don't overreact all the time," Ib was only teasing, but there was definite truth in what she was saying.

"I do _not_ overreact _all_ the time-"Garry began to protest, only to give up but a moment later. He sighed resignedly. "Fine. I overreact…sometimes." He grinned, not yet willing to admit that his problem was not just an occasional occurrence.

"Sometimes?" Ib raised an eyebrow, swinging her and Garry's entwined hands as she broke into a skip.

Garry walked faster to keep up. "Okay, okay. More often than sometimes…but not _all_ the time."

"Heh." Ib pushed open one of the doors along the left side of the hallway, rushing happily over to the abandoned sketchbook and crayons lying on the floor. "What're you going to draw today?" Ib inquired, lying on her stomach and propping herself up with her elbows next to Garry, who was sitting cross legged, pink crayon already in hand.

"It's a surprise." Garry replied, reaching over to gingerly tear a piece of paper from the sketchbook. He made a crease down the middle of the paper before turning in the opposite direction, facing away from Ib so that his creation wouldn't be exposed prematurely.

Ib pushed the pile of crayons into the middle for easy access for both her and her friend. She tilted her head over to make sure she couldn't see Garry's drawing from where she was at before starting work on her own design. Swinging her legs back and forth, she tried to start up a conversation, not caring for the silence too much. She found it funny how when she was younger she had loved nothing better than a little peace and quiet, but as she grew older, she found herself liking it less and less. "Well, you've probably already guessed what I'm going to draw. I guess I should start learning to draw other things besides bunny rabbits, but they're so easy to draw, and if it's the only thing you actually _know_ how to draw…." Ib glanced up at Garry, unable to read his expression as the only thing she could see right now was the back of his head. _He has such oddly colored hair…._ She noted to herself, not for the first time. It wasn't every day that you ran into someone with _purple_ hair, after all. Then again, she hadn't seen another human being for the past 7 years. _Maybe most people have purple hair, and **I'm** the odd one out._

Sensing he couldn't remain silent for much longer, and aware of the eyes trained to the back of his head willing him to turn around, Garry looked over his shoulder at Ib, smiling his kind, easy smile before going back to coloring.

Ib did the same, breathing a sigh of relief when she didn't completely mess up the rounded frame of the bunny she had outlined in black. "Hey Garry, what color do you think he should be?" She gazed down at the messy rows of crayons. There were so many colors, shades, styles, and patterns to choose from, and she wanted this to turn out the best it could be.

Garry stiffened, this action only made evident by the tensing of his shoulders and the slightest intake of air. "Blue's a nice color," he answered slowly, methodically, ambiguously, his hand skimming the paper as he scribbled furiously at whatever was on its pages.

"It is," Ib said lamely, her gaze lingering on the back of Garry's neck in the hopes that he would turn around and give her that smile again. Finding this not to be the case, Ib reached for the most beautiful blue crayon she could find and began to color in her picture. _Now **I'm** the one overreacting. I wonder why Garry doesn't seem to ever like my pictures._ It was true. For as long as she had known him, although he never said anything outright, Garry always seemed extremely cautious when it came to praising her pictures, almost as if he were scared of them. _Maybe he really is scared of rabbits…?_

"Done." Garry turned around, holding his picture up for Ib to see. "Happy Birthday! Hope you like it. I know it's not very good…hah." He handed the picture over for Ib to get a closer look at, nervously rubbing the back of his neck in anticipation for Ib's verdict.

"Oh, Garry! I love it! It's beautiful, thank you. " Ib's voice wavered, her hands quivering, almost crushing the thick birthday card. Before Garry could read further into Ib's mixed reaction, she tackled him, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. "It's perfect. I mean it. I've always known you were meant to be an artist."

Hearing the mirth in her muffled voice, Garry was set at ease. He kissed the top of her head, reciprocating her affection. "I'm glad."

Ib enjoyed the moment a while longer before amiably breaking free from his grasp. "I think a perfect end to a perfect day would be a trip to go see the paintings. Let's go?" she added rather questioningly, waiting to make sure he was game.

"Of course. Today's _your_ special day, after all." Garry chuckled and held Ib's hand, not letting go until they had made it safely to the area where the paintings were kept in The Fabricated World.

Forgotten by both of them was the birthday card made by Garry. It fluttered to a stop next to a half-finished image of a blue rabbit. The words 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY' in large, red print hovered over a drawing of a circle of blue dolls so realistic, you could practically see their cold hands clasped together, hear the red stitching on their pronounced mouths rip apart with the force of their shrieks, feel their shifty bloodshot eyes upon you. _Love, Garry_ was written in diminutive cursive at the bottom of the page, just an inch away from being crushed by the unforgiving foot of the monster above.

\--

 

For some reason, just a week after having stayed with Garry in The Fabricated World, all of the paintings had stopped attacking them. Not that they were complaining. While Garry was conversing with the Lady in Red painting, Ib looked around, simply admiring the immense variety of art Guertena had single handedly created. After all of these years, Garry and she had never found a way out of The Fabricated World, and she had long ago stopped thinking they ever would. After getting over the initial homesickness and longing to be reunited with her parents, she found herself content with her life with Garry. _Everything is fine, as long as I'm with Garry._ But Ib found herself growing bored with contemplation.

"Oh, well I actually thought- hmm?" Garry paused midsentence when he felt himself being dragged in a different direction. Ib tugged on his arm, forcing Garry to bid a hasty farewell to the painting before running after Ib. Ib released him, coming to a halt in front of _The Hanged Man_ , one of her favorite paintings in the entire exhibit.

Garry shook his head, his gaze softening at the look of rapt attention Ib gave the gruesome portrait. "I still don't understand why you like that creepy thing. It's so…morbid."

Ib blushed, a bit ashamed at the disapproval in Garry's voice. "I just feel sort of sad for the man. I've always wondered what happened to him. Why was he hanged? He can't even talk to us like the other paintings can…."

"It's just paint on a canvas, Ib, nothing more. Don't look so sad. Cheer up, it's your birthday." Garry ruffled Ib's hair before pulling back to do an appraisal of the painting.

Minutes ticked by and still Ib stayed by the painting.

"It's 6:30 now. You're officially 17." Garry broke the silence. The atmosphere felt different, almost heavy, but still Ib remained with her back turned towards Garry. If she heard him, she certainly did an excellent job of hiding it. If Garry cared whether or not Ib acknowledged him or not, he certainly did just as admirable a job of hiding it. "You know…I was your age when I came here, to The Fabricated World. Well, _I_ didn't come here, _he_ did, but he's gone now, so it doesn't really matter." Garry paused. If he had been expecting a response, he was sorely mistaken. Unperturbed, he pressed on. " _You_ made me. You know that now, don't you? Nothing matters but _I, you, and he._ " He proclaimed gleefully, his jubilant exclamations wracking his thin frame, his hands twitching uselessly by his side as he threw his head back in a burst of joy.

"You're the same age as I was when _he_ came here, when _I_ was made…." Garry mumbled to himself, his eyes sliding shut. " _The exact same age._ " Just as quickly as he had fallen into a trance, he slipped right back out, his narrow eyes snapping to attention as he glared at a spot on the ceiling above Ib's head. Blue paint spilled from above his own head, dying his hair and trickling in thin rivulets down his pale cheek.

"You're not Garry." At last, Ib spoke, although what she had decided upon saying was not a necessary statement to assert. She languidly tilted her head upwards, her eyes glazing over with exhaustion and recognition at the sight that met her.

"No. But soon I will be." Garry responded bluntly, dipping his fingers into the blue paint dripping off of him and absentmindedly drawing circle after circle on his open palm. Hoards of dolls – those _wretched_ dolls- the exact same ones Ib had seen on her birthday card, now surrounded Garry, several clinging to his shoulders, curling around his legs, others bathing in the pools of paint coating the floor by his feet.

A drop of red paint splashed onto the bridge of Ib's nose. " _He's_ Garry, isn't he." Ib pointed to the ceiling, scarcely able to stifle the sob that wanted to erupt at the sight of the real Garry's bones, preserved for all this time in the accursed, scintillating red paint.

"Not for much longer." Garry continued drawing circles in his hand, his motions becoming close to frantic as he scratched desperately through the blue paint collecting in his palm.

Ib choked, feeling something tightening around her throat and pulling her off her feet. _When did that noose get there? Why is that rope…?_ She could no longer think straight, her blood circulation cutting off as she wrestled with the ever tightening lariat around her neck. She gasped for air, deliriously seeking a way to save herself.

"For 7 years I've been trapped here, not knowing what the real world is like. I've been hanging- hanging in a meaningless existence with you! Why aren't you happy for me? By taking your creation's place, you're giving me a new life, a chance at freedom! I've been waiting so long…had to wait until you were old enough…." Garry's frustrated screams turned into muttered fragments of almost-speech as he focused all of his attention into tracing the bloody circles on his palm, the cobalt dye sinking into his skin and flooding his veins. He breathed a sigh, stopping his insane ritual when he detected that Ib was on her last few seconds of life. With an affectionate smile he called out as loud as he could, until the damp walls echoed with his cries, "Please, Girl. Will you roam through the darkness with me?"

Ib broke. Her silence wouldn't save her, but neither would her tears. The only thing she could hear was the sickening crunch of shattering bone and the roar of blood (or was that only paint?) booming in her ears, and with her last dying breath she pleaded with the one thing she could see despite her asphyxiation induced hallucinations. She stared at Garry's compassionate smile, straining to hear the warm laughter she had thought she would always count on until the day she died. "Will we be together?" Even if it was only a lie, she wanted reassurance, no matter what form it took.

"No. Not this time." Garry's eyes grew wide, his ecstatic triumph complete with these final words. Turning to a painting entitled _Fabricated World_ , he swung his legs over the side of the frame, and into reality.

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N Eeep, that was my first Ib fanfic. I know it's probably confusing. If there are any questions, feel free to ask! Reviews would be very much appreciated, too. Thank you! :)**


End file.
